“Uncle, I have arrived, and I have brought drink!” Ares’ booming voice echoed off the walls. He held a terracotta oinochoe in one hand and two goblets in the other. Pausing in the doorway, he glanced out into the hall. “Charon! Bring us food! I wish to feast with my uncle. And make sure there is meat, none of that bird food the nymphs love to feed us on Olympus,” he commanded.

A vein pulsed in Hades’ temple as he stared at the wreckage.

“Ares, what in Tartarus’ name are you doing here?”

Ares gave him a toothy grin and approached. “Have I not made myself clear?”

Hades pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is a place of business. I have clients to see.”

Charon popped his head into the office. “Not anymore. The mighty god of war scared off your next patient with his flashy appearance. Your schedule’s pretty much blank for the rest of the day,” he added with a smug smirk, already thinking about clocking out early.

“See? You have enough time to spend with your favourite nephew. Charon! Bring our food!” Ares rudely demanded.

At his receptionist’s questioning glance, Hades nodded. Since he was free, there was no harm in letting Ares stay a while.

“While you’re at it, get someone to fix the door, please, Charon,” Hades added.

“Sorry about that, Uncle,” Ares said with a grin that showed no actual remorse. He pulled out a chair, turned it around, and sat with his arms resting on the back. “I swiped this from Dionysus’ personal stash. Should be as good as ambrosia.”

Ares poured two glasses of wine and slid the second goblet across the desk.

Hades placed his hands on his hips and stared down at the top of his nephew’s head.

Ares was dressed in full armour minus his helmet, spear, and shield. But he still had his sword, and he smelled of blood, dust, and sweat, despite his outwardly clean appearance. He’d spent so many centuries on battlefields that the bitter scent wass permanently ingrained in his skin.

“What makes you think you’re my favourite?”

Ares glanced up at him, eyes alight with amusement. “War and death go hand in hand, Hades.”

“So does pestilence, but you don’t see me claiming Apollo as one of my favourites. If that spot should be reserved for anyone, it’s Hermes since I see him the most out of all my siblings’ spawns,” Hades retorted.

“What about your wife? Shouldn’t she be your favourite among your siblings spawns?” Ares asked, tongue-in-cheek.

Hades narrowed his eyes. “Don’t make me banish you to Tartarus, boy,” he warned, sitting down and accepting the proffered glass of wine. He took a sip, letting the sweet taste linger on his tongue. It was good but it didn’t come close to his stash of aged ambrosia. “What really brings you here, Ares? And don’t try to feed me that bullshit about wanting to spend time with me.”

Ares glanced at him over the rim of his goblet, his eyes pensive. Setting it down, he let out a soul-weary sigh and ran his fingers through his unruly curls.

“I needed to get away from the chaos and drama of Mount Olympus for a moment. Father and I fought again. He’s being overly obnoxious, fawning over Athena, and its grating on my last nerve,” he said, fake-gagging. “Mother had another run-in with Hephaestus, which has put her in a mood. If I see her now, she’ll order me to retaliate in some way, and I don’t feel like fighting my brother at the moment.” He paused to drain his wine before continuing.

“Dite and Eros are fighting. She’s sulking in the mortal lands and has buried herself in a days long orgy with no end in sight. My son’s been miserable ever since his mother sent his dear wife on some fool errand to retrieve a golden fleece or something. He also got caught up in a stupid fight with Apollo that ended with the latter getting struck by one of Eros’ arrows. While under its effects, the half-wit fell for some nymph who let herself be turned into a tree just to escape his advances. For whatever reason, Olympus’ golden boy thinks I’m to blame as well.”

“Why? Did you have anything to do with it?” Hades asked.

“Of course not! I could care less about Apollo’s romantic endeavours,” Ares exclaimed, clearly disgruntled. “You know he and Artemis have never truly forgiven me for that whole business with their mother, so they’re always looking for any reason to fight with me,” he added with an eye roll.

Another pause to drink. The wine was already half gone and Hades hadn’t even finished his first cup.

“With the exception of Dite and my children, Father has pretty much turned everyone against me.”

Hades frowned. Ares sounded more defeated than angry as he said that last part.

“Not everyone. You have a somewhat friendly relationship with Hermes and Dionysus. There’s Hestia and Poseidon too.”

Ares scoffed. “Please, Uncle. Poseidon tolerates me at best. Besides, I hate the smell of fish. And Mother gets jealous if I spend time with Hestia. She hates the idea of me having another maternal figure. She barely tolerates Dite most days, so I try to keep them apart as much as possible.”

His eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Is this your way of hinting that I should go bother someone else? Because if that’s the case, I could always zip down to Eleusis and visit Demeter and sweet, beautiful Persephone. She is still visiting with her mother, isn’t she? I’m sure they’d love to host me for a few days. Or maybe I’ll invite Persephone to an intimate dinner when they come up to Olympus,” he added with a wolfish grin.

Wine exploded from Ares’ goblet and splashed across his face. Although, judging by Hades’ unbothered expression, one might doubt whether it had been his doing at all.

Hades was well aware that his wife would never entertain Ares’ flirtatious advances nor would Demeter tolerate them, but he couldn’t help the burst of jealousy and anger that burned in his chest.

“Demeter would sooner geld you and risk Hera’s wrath than let you attempt to woo my wife; and I’d be more than happy to assist,” Hades growled.

Ares threw his head back and laughed. “Are you sure, Uncle? From what I hear, my aunt hasn’t stopped trying to dissolve your marriage. Perhaps she’d prefer to betroth her beloved daughter to the future king of Olympus.”

Just then, Charon entered the room with a platter of food, mostly cuts of meat. “Are you sure, war god? At the rate you’re going, there’s more chance of Heracles claiming the throne than you,” the ferryman quipped, having caught the tail end of the conversation.

Ares was out of his seat so fast that Hades barely caught the movement. In the blink of an eye, he had Charon pinned to the wall, one hand wrapped around Charon’s pale neck.

“Mind your tongue around me, ferryman, lest I rip it out and bury it down your throat,” he growled, hand squeezed so tight around Charon’s neck that his eyes were starting to bulge from their sockets.

“Ares, release him this instant. I command you!”

Hades allowed his divine power to rise to the surface. In the Underworld, he was king and held sway over everything and everyone, even the mighty god of war.

Charon, to his credit, seemed unaffected by Ares’ menacing demeanour, even as the war god’s hand tightened around his neck and his face changed colour.

“I do not take insults lying down, scrawny one. Be grateful my uncle was here to save you today.” With one final squeeze, Ares tossed Charon aside as if he weighed no more than a bag of feathers.

Charon stood, calmly straightening his robes. He cleared his throat and massaged his neck and he stared Ares down. “I’d advise you to be careful who you threaten, son of Zeus. When your time comes, I’ll be the one to ferry you across the River Styx. Who knows what might happen during the crossing?”

Not bothering to wait for Ares’s response, Charon walked out with easy indifference.

“You should teach your minions to respect their betters, Hades,” Ares snarled, eyes dark as coal and jaw tightly clenched.

“You should learn to respect others even those you consider beneath you— which Charon is not. He is older than both you and I, despite his occasional childish behaviour. And you need to learn to control your anger and stop flying into a blind rage at the slightest provocation.”

“Now you sound like Father,” Ares scoffed. “You’d think I’m the only god with anger issues, the way he’s always on my case. Apparently, only his and Little Miss Perfect’s fits of temper are justified. Athena turns an innocent mortal into a spider just because she lost a stupid competition, and he laughs like it’s the world’s funniest joke. I back the Trojans over the Greeks and Zeus calls me the most hateful of gods. Why? Because Athena is on the side of the Greeks of course!” Ares spat, returning to his seat.

“You seem to harbour a lot of resentment for Athena. Is it because of your overlapping roles as gods of war?” Hades asked, immediately slipping back into therapist mode.

Ares poured himself another glass of wine. “Can you blame me? Father sings her praises and seeks her counsel on war and politics but only criticizes, undermines, and rebukes me for how I handle things. Does that seem fair to you?”

“Ah!” Hades leaned back in his seat. “So your poor relationship with Athena is a direct consequence of your strained relationship with Zeus.”

“What relationship?” Ares sneered. “If he could, I’m sure he’d remove his ichor from my veins and banish me from Olympus.”

“What makes you say that?”

Ares shot him a dark look. “You may not live on Olympus with the rest of us, Hades, but I know you’re well aware of my tempestuous relationships with my father and just about everyone else. Sometimes I think you’re the luckiest of us all. Lurking down here, managing your own domain. Pitiful and depressing as it is, but it’s still yours. Poseidon, though master of the seas, still answers to my father. The two of them did you a favour, banishing you down here,” he added with a cruel smirk before tearing into a thick turkey drumstick.

Hades said nothing, keeping his expression neutral. He was well aware Ares was fishing for a fight, trying to provoke him into one. For eons, Hades’ claim over the Underworld and how he’d come by it had been plagued by nasty rumours. One such tale held that Zeus, Poseidon, and Hera conspired to exile Hades down here, denying him a place among the great Twelve Olympians. But Hades had long since come to terms with his role in the cosmos and was hardly bothered by such trivial matters anymore.

His fingers twitched, needing to write down notes, but that would only incense Ares further. In Ares’ mind, he was only here for a meal and to get drunk. So instead of noting his observations down, Hades committed it to mind to enter into a patient file later.

Aside from the obvious anger management issues, Ares clearly held intense feelings of resentment for Zeus, and Athena. There was jealousy towards his sister that went beyond the confines of normal sibling rivalry.

Hades pondered what to say next. As a therapist, he had to be careful about not invalidating his patients’ feelings and experiences. And he certainly didn’t want Ares to think he was taking Zeus’ side, but it was also his job to make Ares think beyond his anger and see the situation from all perspectives.

“I won’t deny that Zeus has his favourites—”

“Athena being THE favourite,” Ares interrupted. “Unsurprising given that Father is a narcissistic asshole. Of course his favourite child would be the one he birthed himself. Me? I’m just the annoyance who refuses to take his side anytime he wrongs Mother.”

Hades nodded. “You make a fair point. But in the name of fairness, I feel I should also point out that the reason Zeus chooses to seek out and heed Athena’s counsel in matters of war and politics is because she takes a strategic, tactical approach whereas you favour a more chaotic and brutal undertaking with no thought of the consequences. You're fuelled by bloodlust and a need to prove yourself to your father. To prove that you are the better war god. The better son. Worthy to be his heir.”

Ares jerked back in his seat like he’d been struck. Fire ignited in his eyes as the air seemed to vanish from the room.

Hades had only a split second to cast a protective shield around himself before his marble desk exploded into splinters. Shards of stone and wood embedded themselves in the walls and ceiling along with sprays of red wine and chunks of meat, staining the room in a grotesque collage.

Ares glowed with divine wrath, his features twisted in fury as he glared down at Hades who remained seated, arms and legs crossed, completely unfazed.

“All war is brutal and chaotic, Uncle!” Ares thundered. “War is violence. Destruction. Widespread bloodshed and death! Athena may try to dress it up with her pretty plans and strategies, but at the end of the day, the result is the same whether she orchestrates the battles or I do. But what does the mighty Zeus do? He vilifies me and fawns over Athena like the sun shines out of her ass. And I have had enough!” Ares roared, his power swelling to fill the room.

If any mortals or Shades had been present in the room, they would have been vaporized. But Ares’ power wouldn’t stay confined for long, and Hades wouldn’t allow harm to come to his people.